Page:Odes on several subjects - Akenside (1745).djvu/55

While the dim raven beats his weary wings,
And clamours far below.——Propitious Muse,
While I so late unlock thy hallow'd springs,
And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse,
To polish Albion's warlike ear
This long-lost melody to hear,
Thy sweetest arts imploy;
As when the winds from shore to shore,
Thro' Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore,
Till towns, and isles, and seas return'd the vocal joy.

But oft amid the Græcian throng,
The loose-rob'd forms of wild desire
With lawless notes intun'd thy song,
To shamful steps dissolv'd thy quire.
O fair, O chaste, be still with me
From such profaner discord free:
While I frequent thy tuneful shade,
No frantic shouts of Thracian dames,
No Satyrs fierce with savage flames
Thy pleasing accents shall invade.